


Fresh Blood

by Schemilix



Category: Bas Lag - China Miéville, MIEVILLE China - Works, The Scar - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schemilix/pseuds/Schemilix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Brucolac considers himself prudent when picking his lieutenants. However, as a judge of character he has never been the best. Mistakes happen - and mistakes must be hunted down, eradicated, and efficiently at that. Sometimes, if you want a job done properly, you have to do it yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh Blood

The Brucolac walks quickly over the ramshackle spread of Dry Fall, neither hurrying nor out for an evening walk. He walks purposefully, not dawdling but hunting - taking the time to find his quarry. That tongue snakes out languidly, tasting wood-smoke and coal-smoke, brine and sweat and bootleg alcohol and the incomprehensible ghosts of Khepri conversation. 

His eyes, like a shark, are secondary until the point of attack, but nonetheless he searches and, often, his eyes become silvery discs turgid with moonlight, and then they are back to tan and he looks almost human. 

Nobody disturbs him. The man is on a mission and his sword is loose in his scabbard; official business, that's for certain, especially with the tall woman and the broad-shouldered man loping along behind him. 

It doesn't take long. The tang of blood is unmistakable, he smells sweat, fear, the sweet-cloying of sickness, a thick and distasteful scent to a body long since past such things. His prey is in the hull of the Whippet and the craven friend-guards step aside before the Brucolac even has to look at them. 

They are human. Old friends - the fact that they have not abandoned entirely the woman he seeks is testament to what he has done to this Riding, and that is not lost on the Brucolac. He does not acknowledge those he passes and finds the room in which she hides in less than a minute. 

Finding the door locked he is not so crude as to kick the door down. Instead he pulls the handle until the lock snaps in one swift motion. The door swings open by itself. 

"Stand," he says without inflection and before he looks at this woman to see if she is indeed his prey. Her eyes widen in fear when she recognises the tall, pale creature in the door, eyes filled with cold fury and his long fingers wrapped around the hilt of a sword made for cutting, not stabbing.

It is without surprise that he sees her eyes catch the dim light and flash, and she is young enough that she still thinks to breathe, chest fluttering when she stands as instructed. 

It is also without surprise that the Brucolac draws his sword and decapitates the neophyte when she lunges at him, desperately. He turns without evident remorse or even distaste to the male behind him. His eyes are still quite cold. Though the other vampir is better built the Brucolac has the advantage of height and towers over him as the she-vampir steps aside. 

"Didn't I warn you the last time this happened, to be careful?" he says. The sweet tone in his voice is abhorrent with his guttural voice, and his most smile shows too many too-long teeth. Rather than allow the rogue-maker to irritate him by talking he removes his head with a ruthless efficiency and a pre-emptive grunt of , "Bullshit."   
The Brucolac wipes the blood which he failed to dodge from his face, sword still in his hand and slick with blood. He turns to his comrade, whose face remains impassive, tells her,

"We're too fucking dangerous for me to allow this, let alone twice. See to it the others know. I will not warn again."  
"Sir."

"I have business. Notify the residents that there has been something of an accident in the cabins that needs addressing," he adds, dryly. Then he strides away, still crackling with annoyance. 

Fucking ineffectual. The Brucolac does so hate waste.


End file.
